Cocaine
by Sammy41
Summary: AU. Jane Rizzoli hasn't seen a crime scene in 8 months. Her life is in free fall. But a new case may lead to her salvation. RIZZLES. WARNING: Drug use.
1. Chapter 1

It'd been nearly a year since her last crime scene. It was hard to believe for anyone who knew the savvy, level-headed, sharp Detective Jane Rizzoli. The top of her class out of the Academy, the youngest officer to be promoted to detective, and the first female to be assigned to the Boston PD's vice division. Anyone in the department who saw her in action, who saw her climb the ranks, knew the gangly, lithe Italian girl who never wore make-up and sprinted like an Olympian was going run the whole damn show one day. That or make the Feds.

But after the last eight months, that Jane Rizzoli seemed long gone. The new Jane Rizzoli was twenty-nine years old and working at a desk. She was reassigned to the cyber unit after over three years on vice. No one knew why she requested it. No one knew what happened in Cavanaugh's office that day. All they knew was when Jane Rizzoli came back from leave, she wasn't the same young detective who inspired hope. She was a ghost.

The phone call came in the middle of the night. Jane wasn't asleep. She was wide eyed and jittery, bouncing her leg up and down as she watched infomercials. An empty bottle of Jack Daniel's and a collection of beers littered her coffee table. The rest of the apartment was a mess of clothes and unwashed dishes, lots of pizza boxes and random pieces of sporting equipment. On the third ring she grabbed the phone from the crack of her worn couch and sighed.

"What do you want?" Jane asked. "I'm off the clock."

She stiffened with anger when she heard a fresh, young voice on the other end. "We have a body in Southie," he told her. "We need you Jane."

It was the fourth time in two months they'd try to pull her back into the chase. The fourth time that the victim was too similar, the situation reminiscent of the other cases.

"I don't do that anymore," Jane growled. "How many times do I have to tell you, Frost?"

She was already searching the coffee table, knocking over a few cans and straining her eyes to see under the blue light of the television screen.

"It's not by my request" he said. "This is from the chief."

Without warning Jane hung up on him. She furiously kicked off a few cans from the table, just for the sensation. As the aluminum toppled to the floor, she suddenly spotted what she was looking for. Glowing like a Godsend in the scarce light, she snatched the small baggie of white powder.

Her agile hands hurried to dump out a small portion onto the coffee table. She took out a credit card, a dollar bill, and separated two neat lines. She snorted the first with her left nostrils and the next with her right. The coke burned through her nose, stinging her eyes and tingling throughout her face.

But the high was worth the temporary pain. It was like seven cups of coffee and a shootout. She felt sudden ease in her usually tired, weighted head.

Now Jane could do anything. That's what she told herself. She needed it. It was the only way to get through.

She pulled on jeans and grabbed a jacket. If they were going to call her out in the middle of a night for a division she wasn't even a part of, Jane was going to do it on her terms. She filled up an empty water bottle with vodka, snatched up her keys, and stumbled out with her badge.

It was a short drive to Southie. Jane remembered the neighborhood well. It was the working-class Irish side of town. She used to work it back when she was running operations for Vice. Back when she started the mess that haunted her. Driving the streets again, high off her ass and drunk was a familiar, somehow comforting sensation. It almost seemed like the only way anyone could get through the rundown, crime ridden streets.

Jane pulled to the curb when she saw the red and blue lights. They surrounded the mouth of an alleyway, already marked off with yellow tape and crowded with patrol officers who had nothing better to do on the night shift. Jane chugged a generous portion of liquor and checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes were lazy and tired. She still hadn't dinner so the high came hard and fast. She grabbed her water bottle and checked to make sure her trusty baggy was still in her jacket and then with a few stumbling steps she crossed the street and approached the scene.

Her first scene in almost a year.

Jane didn't realize it until she was out in the cold, yellow tape ahead. She could still turn back. The option teased her and she even looked behind her to check her car as if the dented, rusted Jeep could give her an answer. But now that she was here, now that she could hear the sirens, feel the anxiety, her curiosity won. It was in her blood. It was in her pulse. The distant memories and feelings of a younger, stronger, more confident Jane Rizzoli suddenly gained momentum.

"This is a crime scene, ma'am," the uniformed officer warned.

She scowled. She couldn't believe she let it get to this. They didn't recognize her anymore. She was no longer the dominating, illusive Jane Rizzoli. She was a nobody in the cybercrimes division. Before she could explain or pull out her badge, Detective Barry Frost came over.

"She's with us," Frost said.

He pulled up the yellow tape and offered to help her under but Jane rudely avoided him.

"I didn't think you'd actually show up," Frost told her.

Jane knew of Barry Frost. He was a young, fresh-faced detective, always asking her questions whenever he spotted her at the precinct. He was star struck by the youngest detective in BPD history, determined to learn from the great. But Jane was hardly great. And she despised him for his eagerness, for his positivity.

"Did the Chief really ask me to be here?" Jane asked.

Frost answered her but Jane didn't listen. She was too occupied bringing her steps to a halt in front of the body. It wasn't so much a body as a large mass hidden beneath a white sheet, but it meant the same to Jane.

She instantly fell into a long avoided trance. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. The vodka, the coke, the cigarettes and pills did nothing to numb her. It was all the bodies. The first body as a detective when she puked behind a tree and hid from her male counterparts. She remembered the most gruesome of crimes. The mangled bodies dumped in alleyways. Children stabbed by parents, blood on walls, multiple victims, bullet holes, overdoses, and severed limbs. Jane Rizzoli was out of practice. More morbidly, she wondered why she ever got into the practice in the first place.

Frost was still chattering as she finally forced herself to take a step toward the body. The medical examiner was collecting samples and glared as she invaded his space. Jane ignored him, crouching down next to the corpse. She could feel Frost hovering above her and the other cops watching. Large spotlights had been wheeled into illuminate the alley. An artificial white glare sparkled on the traffic in and out of the scene.

She carefully reached out and rather than proceeding with caution, Jane lifted the sheet quickly like a Band-Aid from a cut. The color struck her first. So familiar, so foreboding. The chilling, unnatural hue of a corpse, deprived of blood and life. Jane couldn't see everything she needed. She identified him as a male in his twenties. He was taken by the violent, hasty work of a knife. Large wounds in the soft places, smaller thrusts from rage. He'd died from blood loss. Rigor mortis had set in at his head and in his upper body. She swallowed back the taste of vomit.

With just a few moments examination, Jane realized why they'd called her there.

"He wasn't killed here. They dumped the body. He's been dead at least…"

"Twelve hours," Frost finished for her.

She carefully stood, wobbling on her legs from the drinking and stiffness of her joints. Frost reached to steady her but Jane resisted his aid. His previously cheery face became a little more somber.

"Did you see the…"

"Yeah," Jane cut him off this time. "Where's the Chief?"

"Here," he announced. Sean Cavanaugh looked tired under the evening light. It wasn't often he came out to crime scenes. He was typically cleaning up their messes with administration. He eyed Jane with a furrowed brow and cleared his throat.

"Thanks for coming Rizzoli," he said.

"Didn't think I had much of a choice," Jane said.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Jane swayed as she stood between Frost and Sean. Her wavy brown hair flapped with a breeze and calmed the nauseous heat in her face and mouth. She clung desperately for the lingering buzz, for any feeling of lightness. But she was plummeting down to Earth faster than she thought possible.

"I think it's a message. Someone wanted you to find the body. They wanted a scene. The wounds are consistent with premeditated homicide. The body was likely moved in a vehicle. The postmortem lividity is inconsistent and sporadic," Jane recited the facts like a young cadet, face blank, voice withdrawn.

"See," Cavanaugh muttered. "She's still got it."

"You don't have to convince me," Frost smirked.

Before Jane could ask for dismissal, Cavanaugh grimly put his hands on his hips in a show of authority. His gray hair gleamed from the previous rainfall. "I want you as a consultant on this case," Cavanaugh told her. "You'll be working with Detective Frost…"

"No," Jane refused. "I'm on the cyber detail. I don't do homicide."

Cavanaugh hitched his jaw like a furious father. He made brief eye contact with Frost before grabbing Jane by the crook of her arm and dragging her off down the alley. With the lights and officers out of earshot, Cavanaugh let go of her.

"Don't make me do this," Jane requested.

"You are the only person at this department with this level of experience. I've let you go for the last six months. But this if four, maybe five victims by the same hand. We're looking at a serial killer…"

"You don't know that for sure," she insisted.

"We both do," Cavanaugh glared. His eyes looked like onyx jewels in the evening light making Jane shudder. He leaned in closer. "I kept you on this force for one reason."

"You promised me the cyber detail!" Jane shouted.

Her voice scraped louder than she expected and a few officers glanced their way. Cavanaugh lowered his brow and gritted his teeth. "I've turned my head Rizzoli. You don't think I realize? You're either trashed or high off your ass twenty out of twenty-four hours a day. Do you even want to be a cop anymore? Huh?"

Jane swallowed hard. She faltered and grabbed onto the brick wall with her left hand, still facing Cavanaugh but forced to drop her gaze to the pavement. She wanted more coke. God she wanted more vodka and more coke. That's all she could think of. She should have had an answer. Two years ago she would have had an answer. That the uniform, the honor, and duty was all she lived for. A vow more important than wedding vows or family or love. But now even that took a backseat. A backseat to the desire in her chest for more.

"What do you want Rizzoli?" Cavanaugh growled. When she stayed silent, he slammed his palm onto the rusty, metal dumpster nearby. His gold wedding ring clanged against the surface. Jane shot up, allowing him at least her attention. He pointed an angry finger at her face. "You're going to consult on this case. You're going to help Frost solve it or you turn in your badge tomorrow. I'm done doing favors for you."

Jane watched as he walked off, ignoring the rest of the officers and forensics on the scene who stared back at her. She shivered in her rain jacket. Her sneakers were soiled from rain. Her jeans were damp. She felt out of place among the uniforms and suits. She was haggard and old and unenthusiastic. Jane sighed, leaned back against the wall, and chugged half of the vodka left in her bottle. She was so intent on the task that she hardly noticed Barry Frost joining her.

"Hey," he said.

"Christ!" Jane hissed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Frost replied. He leaned next to her. "I'm glad to have you working with me."

Jane shook her head.

"I told you no enough times that you sucked Cavanaugh's dick to get me to help you?" Jane asked.

Frost tightened his jaw, staring out at the lights with her, watching as their victim was lifted into a hearse. "I don't know what I ever did to make you hate me, Rizzoli," he said.

"Never respected a detective who couldn't handle their own case," Jane snarked. It was a ridiculous accusation. The force was about teamwork after all. But it was a quick reason to hate Frost.

"I just know when to ask for help, Rizzoli," he said. Frost looked her up and down. "You should try it sometime."

The twenty-six year old detective started on a walk toward one of the empty patrol cars that surrounded the yellow tape. Jane had a mind to end it there. She could put in a resignation tomorrow. But she'd crawl back. She'd have no job. No reason to get up.

"You coming?" Frost called to her.

Jane stomped to join him at the car. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Hospital. The other victim still had a pulse," he told her.

Her mouth involuntarily dropped and Frost smiled. The car ride was short and Jane didn't say a word. She stared out the rain beaded window as Frost took them across town.

"It's a couple," Frost spoke up.

Jane didn't acknowledge him, determined to continue her stubborn distance.

"The girlfriend is in a coma. Just a student at Boston Cambridge. Her family is all the way in California. I can't think why someone would want to target them," Frost muttered.

She finally glanced over at him, pushing the hair out of her dilated, drunk eyes. Jane didn't care if he saw it anymore. She was being forced onto the case and she'd decided very quickly that's as far as she'd go. Still, Jane couldn't help but toy with the young detective.

"Who says anyone wanted to take them out? Maybe they were just easy. Young and stupid." Jane suggested.

"The killer went through the effort of transporting them to the alley," Frost muttered.

He stared ahead, brown eyes straining in frustration, as though he was tumbling over the possibilities with hatred. Frost possessed a boyish, soft face. Jane decided it was because he hadn't been on the job long enough. He hadn't yet been hardened. Soon that would all go away. That's what she told herself. It made her happy to think of him one day calloused and depressed like her. Misery loved company.

"He's playing with you," Jane told him. "You're young. It's too easy."

Frost glanced over. "Not that much younger than you. You started around my age."

"I'm almost thirty," Jane reminded him. "And I started in Narcotics. Not a cushy, homicide gig."

They pulled up to St. Vincent's Hospital and Jane nearly smiled to herself. She would make Frost's life miserable. So miserable he'd beg Cavanaugh to take her off the case. He parked the squad car along the curb and reached into the backseat. He handed her a navy blue windbreaker with POLICE written on the back in yellow letters.

"Wear this," Frost said. "You look like shit. And you smell like vodka."

She ripped the jacket out of his hands and waited until he left the car. In truth, she was grateful for the change of wardrobe. It was hard to act like a cop when between highs, so she might as well look the part. Jane scrambled to switch jackets and while Frost was visible through the clear sliding doors of the hospital, she quickly fished out her wallet and dabbed her nose with a fresh sniff of powder.

Jane trembled as she stepped out of the car. Adrenaline pumped through her, hitting her just as intensely as the last time. Her heart skipped a beat on her way through the hospital doors, causing her breath to hitch and her to blink back nerves. Frost stared at her suspiciously, before waving her to the elevator.

After riding up seven floors to the ICU, Jane and Frost approached the door with a uniformed officer posted outside. Frost nodded at the man who hesitantly stepped aside to let them in, leering at Jane as she passed.

"This is Lori," Frost said gently.

Jane closed the door behind them, doing her best to ignore the dizzy spell that washed over her as she jerked her head to look at him.

"She studies American History," he continued. "She's twenty-two. Wants to be a teacher. Has two brothers at home."

The woman was frail and unmoving in the hospital bed. A number of tubes were plugged into her, filling her nose and wrists and stomach. Her face was already purple with bruises and scrapes. She was wrapped in bandages beneath her thin gown, completely mangled from the bastard who decided to attack her and her boyfriend.

"She's been with her boyfriend since they started college," Frost muttered.

He kept his arms folded across his chest, a frown pulling down at his hairless face. His arms filled out his blazer, stretching the material to its seams. Jane could see the hurt in his eyes as he studied Lori.

"You can't talk about her like that," Jane told him.

"What?" Frost asked.

"She's a victim."

"She's still alive," Frost said. "She's not just a body."

Jane shook her head. The room moved in circles again at the abrupt movement and she closed her eyes momentarily before speaking. "That's not what I mean. You're going to get too close. And you're going to get hurt."

Her chest pulsed with sudden pain but pride kept her from reacting. Jane pulled in a shallow breath, slightly panicked to find the air resistant to fill her chest. She leaned against the wall by the white board with diagnosis information and doctor's notes while Frost took a few steps closer to the side of the bed. He rested his hand on Lori's heart monitor, keeping his eyes steady on the comatose woman.

"Is that what happened to you?" he asked Jane. "Did you get too close?"

The tight pull around her heart was too strong for her to answer right away. She sipped for air and swallowed down further anxiety. "Not like you think," she told him.

Behind them the door opened and bustling through with purpose was a woman in a white lab coat. She seemed unfazed by the police presence, not even uttering a word as she grabbed the clipboard at the end of the bed. Whether from the coke, the pain in her heart, or the woman's beauty, Jane lost her breath. She couldn't speak so Frost cleared his throat first.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"She coded twice during surgery. I was able to stop the internal bleeding but she sustained significant damage to her kidney and the spinal cord was punctured. She's too unstable now to try to repair any of that. Right now it's a matter of fighting infection and waking from the coma," the doctor explained.

The woman was petite and slender. Dark gold hair was tied behind her head, revealing perfect cheek bones and full lips. Her eyes were smart and hazel. Jane couldn't take her gaze off the woman.

"You're her surgeon?" Frost asked. He stepped forward with confidence, offering a large hand. "I'm Detective Barry Frost. I'm running her case."

"Dr. Isles. I'm running her case too," she introduced herself in a clipped, dry manner. "I'm not fond of the police presence. You get in the way of my job. And to be honest, I think that's the only case that matters right now."

Jane would have scoffed if it wasn't for the constant palpitations in her heart. It'd been going on for over three minutes and for the first time she was beginning to worry. She could hardly breathe in the spinning room.

"Lori's health is our priority as well," Frost assured. "The sooner we can collect information about her condition and the wounds she's sustained…"

"It's hospital policy to cooperate with all police investigations," Dr. Isles told him. "You'll get what you need. But she's a patient before she's a victim. And that won't take a backseat to me doing what I need to do to save her life."

Frost gave a nervous, childish chuckle. "I think we're misunderstanding each other, Dr. Isles. I'm not trying to jeopardize your care of Lori," he said. The tension in the room made him seek assistance. "Right Jane?"

For the first time the attention was directed at the silent brunette and both Frost and Dr. Isles were taken back. Jane was hunched over, hands on her knees, gasping desperately for air. "I can't breathe," she told them.

"What? Are you okay?" Frost asked. He stepped toward her but Dr. Isles was already at her side.

"My heart," Jane hissed. "It's going too…fast."

The lights were dimming. The floor blurred beneath her and her heart pounded as though she were being chased. She did her best to stay calm. She'd had anxiety before. But this pain, this speed was different.

"Have you been having chest pains?" Dr. Isles asked her.

Jane nodded, unable to speak. Dr. Isles pressed a stethoscope to her back and then did her best to reach around to press it to her chest. When Jane attempted to straighten back up onto her feet, she nearly collapsed from lightheadedness. Though small, Dr. Isles was strong and managed to keep Jane from completely collapsing before Frost came over to help. He steadied Jane on her feet while Dr. Isles got her first look at Jane's face. Her brow creased with worry.

"I'm going to get a nurse," she announced. "I think you may be experiencing an arrhythmia."

"A what?" Frost asked.

It took extreme perseverance – or perhaps stubbornness – for Jane to stay on her feet. Her heart was going so fast that she was certain it would rupture from her chest or send her into cardiac arrest. She shook and hyperventilated, nearly passing out a second time when the wheelchair was brought into the room. Frost and a nurse slowly helped to lower her down as Dr. Isles took charge.

"I want an EKG started immediately," Dr. Isles barked.

"Is she going to be okay?" Frost asked, attempting to follow them into the hall.

"I'll let you know," she told him.

Even weeks later, after the incident was behind her, Jane Rizzoli could hardly put together the pieces of what happened after she left Lori's room under Dr. Isles care. All she could think about was getting her breathing back. Her vision tunneled, moved in and out, and suddenly she was in a hospital bed, the gorgeous surgeon back in front of her.

"Jane can you hear me?" she asked. A light was shining back and forth in front of Jane's eyes, causing her to squint as she came to. "Jane?"

"What?" Jane said hoarsely.

"Do you know where you are?" Dr. Isles asked.

Jane glanced around, confused of whether she'd passed out or fallen asleep or was having a nightmare. She swallowed hard and sighed. "Hospital," she replied.

For the first time she noticed the wires dangling from her chest. Her shirt was gone and replaced by a hospital gown which allowed for easier access to the electrodes attached to her chest and arms. Dr. Isles glanced at the machine next to them, studying the ream of paper that continuously shot out from the device.

"What happened?" Jane asked.

"You had a heart arrhythmia. It means your heart was beating at an abnormal speed, in your case too quickly, threatening cardiac arrest," Dr. Isles explained. Her hazel eyes were narrowed and intelligent, intimidating the tired and still buzzed Jane. "We gave you a sedative and an antiarrhythmic shot. You appear to be stabilizing."

"I'm going to be okay?" she asked.

Dr. Isles pursed her lips and looked back down at the paperwork. The lines were drawn quickly, showing the pace of Jane's heart. "I have a few questions for you, Detective Rizzoli," Dr. Isles started.

Jane swallowed hard. She could already anticipate the interrogation. She could already feel the disdain in the doctor's eyes. The doctor who didn't know anything about her. No one truly knew.

"What substances were you taking tonight?" Dr. Isles asked.

The words were rather cold, dry and matter of fact, much like when she entered Lori's room and met Frost earlier. Jane tightened her jaw and remained silent. She avoided the doctor's imploring hazel eyes, desperate to avert the judgment. She wasn't ready to face it. Not ready to face herself.

"It's important that you're honest," Dr. Isles said. "This isn't something to shake off. This is your heart and we've already ran blood tests…"

"Coke," Jane blurted out. She ran a hand up to her forehead and pinched between her eyebrows. "I was doing cocaine."

The confession hung heavy in the hospital room. Jane breathed slowly, suddenly realizing the tube beneath her nostrils. She was grateful for the extra help with oxygen. The words sounded strange to her own ears. She was ashamed. She was embarrassed. Here, in this hospital room, nearly giving herself a heart attack, she was vulnerable. Jane couldn't remember the last time she felt so raw.

"Anything else?" Dr. Isles asked.

Jane suppressed the urge to glare or curse. She kept her face hidden behind her palm and gave a low answer. "Alcohol. I drink a lot," Jane whispered.

"And how long have you been using cocaine? How often do you use it?" Dr. Isles prodded.

She asked the questions so scientifically, with such little feeling, that Jane felt like a failure. She was no better than the crooks. Than the drug dealers she tracked down in vice. The judgment was there, heavy in Dr. Isles' voice. Jane didn't know why it hurt her so badly. Perhaps because all her life, Jane did everything she could to be hard. To not listen to the jokes or the words. Even as she became older and achieved her dreams, became the best rookie cop out of the BPD, the nagging insults were still there. This felt just as bad.

"It's not like you think," Jane muttered.

Dr. Isles waited a beat. "I'm sorry?" she whispered.

"They put me on vice when I was twenty-four," Jane said suddenly. She didn't know where the words came from but they were organic and confident. There was no stopping them. The hand dropped from her face and she stared ahead at the blank wall, ignoring the burn of Dr. Isles' eyes on her cheek. "I was the first female to make vice. Youngest to make detective. I don't say that to brag. I say that because I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready at all. I was too eager. I was stupid and young."

She shook her head at the memory. She remembered her mother sobbing. Warning her against the choice. Not only was it bad enough to be a cop, to put her life on the line, but Jane chose detective. Jane chose vice. Dr. Isles was quiet so the story continued.

"I was the first female, so the first thing they did was send me undercover," Jane whispered. "And you know what you do undercover in narcotics? You sell yourself for some blow. You lead the boys in the van listening to the big bad drug dealers. But sometimes it's not that easy. They want you to prove you're not a cop. And I did. I had to do it a few times."

Jane sniffled slightly, not crying but suddenly filled with old emotion. She pet down a few loose pieces of hair. Dr. Isles was still watching her, still completely silent.

"I would always report it to the unit. They knew what was going on. I never did anything more than what was necessary. It was never a problem," Jane said. She knew that Dr. Isles probably didn't believe her. But she didn't care. The confession budded on her soul like a new arrhythmia, pressing her until the truth was out. Pushing her to share, to talk about the things she never could before. And something about the quiet, striking Dr. Isles was enough to inspire her.

"It wasn't a problem until September," Jane muttered. "My partner - they got Martinez. And it was my fault. I set up the operation. Someone recognized me. The backup didn't come. And they got Rafael. I never even liked him - we were Cadets together. But he was still my brother. And I let him die."

A tear threatened and Jane tried to swallow it down. Instead the fat, salty bead escaped and rolled slowly down her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent more emotion.

"I'm sorry," Jane apologized. "I've never actually told anyone that before."

Dr. Isles stared down at her delicate hands, the magic, strong hands of surgery. She'd been quiet throughout the story but it struck deep. She'd heard many sob stories of addiction working in the hospital, had seen terrible things, but the heartfelt confession of the detective made her ache. She could see the pain on Jane's face. She could almost feel it. It's why since the beginning Dr. Isles reverted to stoicism and distance. She wasn't just socially inept and of poor bedside manner, but there was some method for her coldness. Dr. Isles never wanted to be hurt.

"I was reading your chart," Dr. Isles muttered. "I saw you were shot in September…"

"It was nothing," Jane whispered.

"It's common for law enforcement to try to self-medicate and avoid the emotions…."

"Yeah," Jane said tersely.

The detective straightened back up, wiping her red rimmed eyes and clearing her throat with new strength. She folded her long arms across her chest and moved her russet eyes to meet the doctor's.

"So I'm going to be okay?" she asked.

Dr. Isles nodded slowly, her face also returning to its mask of professional blankness. "I'd like to keep you here for further observation," Dr. Isles told her. "You're young for a heart attack but you could have very well gone into cardiac arrest tonight. I don't want to take any risks."

"I have a case," Jane said.

"Your health is more important. You're in no condition detective," Dr. Isles told her.

Jane bowed her head in defeat. Two hours ago she wanted nothing to do with the case. Now she was disappointed to be taken off it.

A sudden, gentle hand grazed her shoulder, startling Jane out of her somber state. She glanced up to find Dr. Isles standing over her, a soft, comforting palm on Jane's bony back. The doctor appeared just as surprised with herself, her face twitching with slight awkwardness at the attempt of connection.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Isles whispered. "I'm sorry for what happened to you detective. But you're going to be okay."

Jane's chest twitched. It wasn't the pain or fear of the arrhythmia but a new, excited, light pull. A flutter that made her warm and desire more at the same time. Like she'd found a new cocaine right there in Dr. Isles honey eyes.

"What's your name?" Jane asked.

Dr. Isles brow crinkled, causing a few lines to crease her smooth forehead. "I'm sorry?"

"You can call me Jane," she told her.

The surgeon suddenly understood and with a comforting touch still on the detective's shoulder, she gave a hint of a smile. It was enough for Jane to flutter again. "I'm Maura," she said. Their stare lingered, the connection swelling in the small space. Finally the doctor dropped her hand, grabbed the chart and started for the door.

"I'll check on you later," Maura announced nervously.

Jane watched as she disappeared, fleeing off like a scared school girl. And despite the state of her heart, the pain and the mess she created, she finally believed it.

She was going to be okay.

* * *

><p><em>Not sure where this one is going but I had to get it out there. I would love to continue it but I have no idea where to go. So no promises as I don't like getting people's hopes up, but I hope you enjoyed. Thanks. <em>


	2. Chapter 2

She slipped in and out of sleep. It was common when she found herself in an unfamiliar place. Common when she came down. Jane could feel the need in her rest. The need for something to numb her. She twisted in the thin hospital sheets, flopping against the pillow. She was sweating through the thin paper gown, hair tangled against the uncomfortable mattress.

_Jane dreamed of dark nights in basements. She was wearing a skirt too short and her bony shoulders poked out of a silk blouse. It was winter in Boston and she was freezing. She was scared. _

_She met the man in Southie. He told her to meet him around the corner. The wire taped to her chest would alert the guys in the van if things went bad. Still, she shivered. Alone with this scum and he could do anything he wanted to her. She could see him look her up and down. He made sure to make a few grabs at her ass and stroke her long legs. _

"_How do I know you're not a narc?" he asked. He had a thick Boston accent, no hair, and a round head. Tattoos covered his arms. _

"_Narc wouldn't come down here with you," Jane said. _

_She watched as he shook his head and pulled out a small matchbox. He lined up row of powder on the coffee table. "A cop wouldn't do blow," he raised an eyebrow. "But a dirty coke whore would take a free hit wherever she could get one."_

_Jane swallowed hard. She wondered if the guys in the van could hear. She looked at the basement door, half expecting them to come bursting through. _

_But the door never opened._

_They didn't come. _

"_You a narc or what?" he growled. _

_Her hands were trembling. She slowly leaned over the coffee table and held her breath. Jane Rizzoli was a good girl. A tough girl, a sarcastic, strong girl, but a clean, straight edged girl none the less. She smoked pot once in high school and partook in drinks after work with some of the other cops at The Dirty Robber but nothing of such caliber. She'd done busts for the last two months, gone through with the deals, but never been forced to touch it. _

_It burned through her nostril and down her throat, all the way up to her eyes. Jane could hardly breathe for a few moments. The burn would last all night even after the bust. _

_Her first hit. _

_The high was euphoric. Like hitting a homerun or conquering another bust. Her heart raced, her brain gloated, and she felt like she could run a marathon or take down the guy right there on her own. _

_But she didn't._

_He gave her the dime bag, she gave him the money, and the door burst open behind them. _

"_Boston Police! Hands in the air motherfucker!" they shouted. _

_Guns drawn, screams, and cuffs and punches and curses. _

"No!" Jane shouted. She hadn't yet realized she was awake. She thrashed on the hospital bed, instantly pulling at the EKG wires still stuck on her chest. They were reminiscent of the ones strapped to her during busts. Jane managed to pull a few loose before a calming voice broke through.

"Jane, stop! You're having a dream. You're okay," Dr. Isles was advising. Maura was startled and cautious in her approach. "Jane! Jane you're awake. Stop."

The detective slowly became aware of her surroundings, still breathing uneasily as she looked around, familiarizing herself with the hospital a second time. She looked down at the grown in confusion.

"I think you were dreaming," Maura said.

Jane set eyes on the doctor like a docile child. For years to come, Maura would never forget the look. In retrospect she would remember it as the face that made her fall in love. The very moment, though she was unaware of it, that she fell for Jane Rizzoli.

"I'm sorry," Jane muttered.

The detective quickly recovered her tough exterior, glaring down at the mess she made of the heart monitor below her. Maura didn't speak right away. She scribbled a few things onto Jane's chart, not with the intention of ignoring her but because she wasn't sure what to say. The detective frowned, leaning back onto her pillows, attempting to maintain a façade of strength and calm.

"Do you have a lot of dreams like that?"

Jane kept her gaze downcast. The doctor's question was scientific in its delivery like the many other questions asked from nurses and orderlies. Jane just shrugged. Maura's lips pulled down in a grim frown as she carefully sat down on the stool by Jane's bedside.

"It's a common symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. First responders, soldiers, and law enforcement officers are frequently at risk. Alcohol and drug dependency can be concurrent and…"

"Please," Jane cut her off. She didn't mean to be brash with her words but Maura instantly looked down to the clipboard on her lap, hiding her gaze. "I'm sorry. I just…I'm having a hard enough time facing myself already. I know I have issues."

Maura quickly returned to her stiff, distant Dr. Isles persona and cleared her throat. "Here," she said. "Let me reattach those."

Jane nearly shuddered as the doctor's hands came forward. Her fingers were gentle but cool. The detective was suddenly teetering with nerves like an excited teenager. She tried to keep her face calm and her heart rate static but the more she tried, the harder it seemed to achieve. Maura's fingers slipped beneath her thin hospital gown, grazing her bare skin and putting gentle pressure above her breast as she put the electrodes back into place.

A blush warmed Jane's cheeks. As if sensing the nervousness, Maura looked up. Her eyes hit Jane's with warmth and curiosity. She studied the speckled brown portals with simultaneous fear and admiration. It was as though she could see everything she needed to know about Jane Rizzoli in those eyes. The pain, the loneliness, what motivated her, what broke her, and the humanity that made her tender.

They looked away simultaneously. Jane blinked and stared ahead and Maura went back to adjusting the wires onto the detective's tan chest. "There," she announced when finished.

"Thanks," Jane murmured.

Her voice was hoarse and deep from sleep. It sent a shiver down the doctor's back. Maura busied herself by studying the EKG results from the machine, though her mind lingered back to the feel of the detective's skin. Of the tease of her breasts below as she attached the electrodes. She didn't know what was coming over her.

"What time is it?" Jane asked.

"Three," Maura said shortly.

"In the morning?" Jane asked. "They make you work late."

"Sometimes," Maura agreed. She allowed herself to look back up.

"I thought I slept longer," Jane sighed.

"You were restless," Maura revealed. The doctor instantly regretted the revelation. The first time she'd used the excuse that she was making sure the EKG was still consistent. The next because it was a slow hospital day. By the third time, Maura was out of excuses. She was intrigued by the detective. She was worried. She cared for a reason she couldn't place.

"You checked up on me?" Jane asked. A slight smirk crooked her mouth and her scrappy voice lightened slightly.

"Checked the results of the EKG," Maura clarified.

"Right," Jane nodded.

"Everything looks good," the doctor announced. "I will sign the paperwork for your discharge after you get a little more rest."

"You could release me now," Jane suggested. "I feel fine."

It was a lie. She was already feeling the onset of a hangover and was fatigued from the events of the evening. Dr. Isles seemed to sense the dishonesty and shook her head.

"You need more sleep," Maura said. She slowly stood. Even in her green scrubs and lab coat, Jane found her breathtaking. She wanted to do anything and everything to make her stay. Just for one more word. Just for one more look. Jane attributed it to her current state of mind. The lack of sleep. The trauma. But it was more than that. She would have a heart attack if it meant Maura Isles would stay for just one more second.

"I didn't mean to breakdown on you earlier. I'm sorry," Jane told her.

Maura gave her a sympathetic glance. "Don't be sorry," she said. She wanted to say more. She wanted to give some sort of kindness or reassurance or comfort – the things that Jane Rizzoli so obviously needed. But again, Maura hit a wall. The wall she'd been trying to overcome for thirty years. And as usual, with nothing to say, she defaulted back to the job.

"When you're discharged someone will be by to talk to you about treatment options," Maura announced.

"Treatment options?" Jane repeated.

"There are several different rehabilitation centers in the Boston area that treat addiction, some even geared toward someone in your situation…"

"A rehab center," Jane spat. "I don't need a rehab center. I'm not an addict."

Maura swallowed hard and straightened her jaw. "It's hospital policy to refer you. And in my professional opinion, the emotional numbing and your dependence on substances indicate that you may benefit from a structured rehab program."

"I'm not an addict," Jane growled. She shifted in the bed, growing defensive and angry. Her previously soft chocolate eyes became hard in their gaze. It nearly frightened the doctor. "I can stop if I want to. I can function, I hold down a job. And who are you to suddenly know my life? To know who I am?"

"Your arrhythmia indicates prolonged cocaine abuse. Your BAC came back a 1.2. And according to you detective, that's during a night on the job," Maura said.

All previous attraction and admiration Jane had for the doctor was replaced with hatred. She scowled, dark eyebrows falling with rage. Dr. Maura Isles didn't back down either. Her jaw hitched, her hazel gaze became sharp and soul tearing as she tilted her head to the side.

"You can't do this alone, detective," Maura warned. "I've seen it before. You need to get help before it's too late."

Jane's voice was staid in response. "I didn't ask for your opinion, doctor."

Maura raised her eyebrows and swung the clipboard under her other arm. "Very well," she clipped. "I'll push your paperwork through. Good luck, detective."

Jane stared ahead, listening as the door opened and closed behind Maura. She let out a huff in bitterness before the door was quickly thrown back open and followed by rough footsteps. Jane glanced up to see Barry Frost. He was rather disheveled, tired looking from spending the night at the hospital.

"You're okay," Frost sighed in relief.

"You're still here?" Jane asked.

He nodded. "The Ice Queen wouldn't let me know what was wrong with you. Wouldn't let me in or tell me if you were okay," Frost said.

Jane was slightly appeased to hear Maura had been so guarded about her privacy. She appreciated it. It was a class move that Jane wished the doctor hadn't made if only to continue rationalizing her anger.

"I'm fine," Jane told him. "My heart just got going a little fast."

Frost nodded. He nervously shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets.

"How's our girl?" Jane asked.

"Still comatose," Frost answered.

Jane gave a grim frown. "Did you tell Cavanaugh about this?"

"Told him you were a great help. That I think we'll be able to collaborate on this thing," Frost said.

She gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks," Jane replied. "You can sit."

Frost nervously took a place on the stool next to her bed. He glanced around the room, at the machines and wires. It was an awkward presence and while Jane wished him to leave so she could sleep off her hangover, she had to give the kid credit. He'd had her back. Perhaps she'd been wrong about Barry Frost.

"Why don't you tell me about the case," Jane suggested.

He nodded, suddenly straightening up in his chair and filled with purpose. "We've had four bodies in the last month," Frost said. "First was a middle age male up in Southie. We thought maybe it was a mob killing. Paddy Doyle's crew runs that side of town…"

"What made you rule him out?"

"Nothing yet. The vic had a clean record, drove a taxi," Frost explained. "The next victim was five days later. Also in Southie. School teacher. Married to another teacher at the same high school. And the last victim before the two tonight was a nurse from the University hospital. That was ten days ago. Now these two."

"What makes you believe they're related?" Jane asked.

"Same stabbing pattern, bodies all found on the same side of town. All moved to a dumping site. The Medical Examiner says the wounds are consistent with the same knife," Frost revealed.

"And we're sure these aren't random killings? Whoever did this obviously wasn't in a hurry. Weeks pass between the murders," Jane mused. It was as much for herself as for Frost's benefit. The familiar tumble of her brain started. The detective was slowly coming back. She was suddenly filled with thirst for the chase.

"He seems meticulous," Frost muttered. "It's amazing that Lori lived. You think he would have noticed she wasn't gone. He's seemed so clean before. Experienced even…"

Jane chewed on her lower lip. "Where did Lori go to high school?" she asked.

"In California," Frost answered. He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"We need to start connecting the victims," Jane told him. "That's where you start. Anything that make sense. If we have a serial killer on our hands, there's a pattern, even if he doesn't realize it. We have to catch up to the next victim."

Frost gave a dutiful nod.

"Southie is a start. Most murderers don't go far for their vics. And don't rule out Doyle," Jane continued. She ran a hand through her messy hair. "If he wants something taken care of, it will be taken care of. Trust me."

"That's part of why I wanted you on the case. You know Southie better than most," Frost said.

Before Jane could reply, a sudden thought hit her. She quickly shifted in bed, glancing around the room for her shirt and jacket. Frost watched in confusion.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Help me find my clothes," Jane demanded.

Frost instantly complied, going to the small closet in the corner of the room. He tossed the plastic bag of her clothes to the bed.

"Are you allowed to leave?" Frost asked.

"I'm not leaving," Jane told him. She pulled the electrodes of the EKG off her chest, throwing the wires to the ground in disdain.

"What is going on?" Frost asked. He glanced to the door. "Should I go get a doctor?"

"Shut up Frost," Jane hissed. She wiggled to the edge of the bed and slipped into her jeans. She hastily pulled on her socks. "Who's guarding Lori?"

"We've been rotating a patrol officer," he told her. Frost gave a long sigh. "You haven't been discharged."

"I don't give a fuck," Jane told him. "Turn around."

She quickly snapped back on her bra, t-shirt, and slipped back into her Boston Police windbreaker. Jane shoved her wallet into her pocket and laced up her white sneakers with the black stripes.

"Whoever did this is going to come back to finish the job," Jane said.

"How do you know?" Frost asked.

Detective Jane Rizzoli already hustled through the door of her hospital room, stalking with purpose down the hall. She wasn't even sure they were still on the seventh floor of the ICU but was relieved to see Lori's room just a short ways away. Frost scrambled after her.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be out of bed," one of the nurses at the station called after her.

She caught the attention of a few but only slowed slightly when she heard the familiar voice of her doctor.

"Jane?" Maura said in confusion as the detective passed her and continued enroute to Lori's room.

But Jane didn't stop. It was in her bones. The feeling. The certainty. She pushed past the guard posted in front of Lori's room to find a man in black hovering above the girl's bed with a needle in hand.

"Drop it!" Jane barked at him.

Frost pulled his gun, forcing the man to put his hands in the air. But the fight was just beginning.

Behind the two detectives, in the hospital hallway, gunfire rang out.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for the kind reviews! The story is coming together one small piece at a time so I appreciate your patience. Thanks! <em>


	3. Chapter 3

The madness started quicker than Jane could keep up with. She wasn't ready. Frost certainly wasn't ready.

But neither of them had a choice. It was part of the job they chose. A choice that in moments like this, felt brash and stupid and reckless.

When the gunfire started the two detectives shuddered on instinct, ducking at bullets that were poorly aimed into the hospital room. It was then that Jane noticed the first shriek. Her heart stopped.

Dr. Maura Isles had followed them into the room. And now she was in the crossfire.

"Get down!" Jane screamed at her.

The petrified doctor complied, crouched down and cowering into the corner away from the door. Frost slammed the door closed as bullets continued to rain in. He panted heavily as he leaned against the wall.

"What do we do?" he breathed.

With his big brown eyes on her, full of fear and Maura Isles now in their trust, Jane Rizzoli suddenly felt the power of the call. She was in charge. Frost was too young. And now a washed up, cokehead cybercrime detective was going to have to get them out.

"Get Cavanaugh on the line. We need to shut down traffic to the hospital. Lockdown the seventh floor," Jane said hoarsely. She didn't realize she was panting for air as she stayed crouched by Lori's bed.

Frost eagerly nodded and fumbled with his cellphone holder. A bullet crashed through the small window on the door, causing Dr. Isles to scream. Glass broke into the room and shattered on the floor. More bullets rained in. Frost turned, aiming his gun out the window and firing a few rounds back.

"Jane!" Maura called above the noise.

The detective first filled with anxiety. In the heat of the chaos, by no choice of her own, Jane realized that the surgeon was her main priority. She would do anything before she let Maura Isles get hurt.

But the doctor was fine. She was pointing across the room, to the other side of Lori's bed, where the man in black was taking a second attempt with his needle.

Jane sprang to her feet like a cat. She didn't think, she only moved. Adrenaline filled her as she shoved the man away from Lori. He didn't go easily. He grabbed onto her arms, squeezing and pushing with force. He spun Jane around, slamming her into the wall behind them.

She momentarily saw white as he threw her head into the wall. But the force inspired new determination. Frost was still firing through the broken window, providing little back up so it was up to her. As the man turned his back to her and approached Lori, Jane grabbed his arm, twisting it with such force that he cried out. She was just an inch from breaking it when he threw his head back. Jane felt her cheek bone crack under the force but was too focused to care.

The detective forced him away from the bed, sending him crashing into a tray of medical tools. He stumbled and came back at her with a fist. Jane dodged the strike and the second, finally landing one of her own into his gut. The man hardly budged, until Jane followed it by a kick to the groin.

As he hunched over, Jane wound up a determined fist, swinging a full force punch across his temple. In an instant the perp fell back, unconscious from the blow, and landed nosily to the ground. The slam of his skull on the linoleum insured he wouldn't be waking anytime soon.

"Fuck!" Jane shouted.

She squeezed her punching hand in angst, doing her best to breathe against the pain. She'd been sloppy in her form and felt at least three bones in her hand break against the man's face. Frost glanced over in concern.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jane hissed. "You got cuffs?"

Frost nodded. They were attached to his belt and Jane knew he was too busy returning fire to grab them. She crouched again as she approached him at the door, moving as quickly as she could to the other side of the bed and sliding on the linoleum beneath Frost.

She could hardly move her right hand, making it difficult to remove the cuffs and keys from the detective's belt. Frost kept his gaze out the window, dipping in and out of the opening to avoid bullets. Jane winced against the pain in her fingers, working unsuccessfully without the full use of one hand.

"Here," a gentle voice said.

Maura was suddenly at her side, shoulders brushing up against hers, trembling but brave. Her nimble, surgeon's hands moved against Jane's. Even in the midst of gunfire, Jane lost her breath to Maura. She wanted to shield her and protect her from the violence. More than anything she needed her to be safe.

"Are you okay?" Maura asked her.

She successfully removed the handcuffs off of Frost and now turned concerned attention to the detective. Jane's cheek was already swelling from the fight and her broken right hand was shaking uncontrollably. She nodded.

"Just stay down," Jane told her.

Maura watched in slight awe as the detective whisked off, sliding back across the slick floor to the man she rendered motionless. Jane snapped one cuff to the man and another to the sturdy metal heater. She pulled the gun off his hip and momentarily stared at the weapon in awe.

She hadn't held a gun for eight months.

The last time she used it was when Martinez was killed. During the standard investigation period, Jane was forced to take leave and turn in her weapon. After transferring to cybercrimes there wasn't much use for one. The thrill and power was another rush. Another hit. Another cocaine.

"Jane!" Frost yelled.

With gun drawn, finger on the trigger, Jane ran over to join her partner by the door. He stayed on one side of the window and her on the other.

"How many?" Jane asked.

"I've only seen two," Frost replied. A bullet whizzed into the room between them. Jane quickly popped out, firing off two shots at the assailants who ducked back behind the nurse's station.

"We've got your guy!" Jane yelled. "Put the guns down. The Boston PD is on their way."

In response a bullet was sent on a direct path for Jane's forehead. She ducked out of the way not a second too soon, causing Maura to put a terrified hand over her mouth.

Instilling more fear was a booming voice that sounded in the hall. The gunfire stopped but a few screams were heard outside the room.

"All of you come out!" the man demanded. "Or she gets it! She'll just be the first!"

"He's got a nurse," Frost said with panic. He quickly looked to Jane for direction.

"Let her go," Jane advised. It was quiet enough for her to not need to raise her voice. "You're not going to shoot your way out of this one. You know you're fucked."

The detective peered out the glass shattered window. Nurses and a few doctors were cowered down to the floor of the ICU. A man in black with his face covered, held one of the nurses at gunpoint. She squirmed uneasily in his hold. The second man paced throughout the hub of action, gun in hand.

"Maybe you're right," the man called back. "Doesn't mean I can't take a few down with me. You want to risk it officer?"

"It's detective," Jane snapped. It was a stupid point but a point to be made. A point to make certain she wasn't going to back down.

"Bullet's going straight through her skull unless you and the other _officer _get out here," he said.

Jane swallowed hard. She wasn't well-versed in hostage situations. During her time in Vice she'd been involved in one, held at gunpoint during a deal gone bad. But the backup had come in time. This time however it was just her and Frost. He waited for her instructions.

"Come on," she whispered. Frost nodded before Jane looked to Maura. "Stay here."

"She's going to die!" the hostage taker barked.

Jane Rizzoli opened the door of the hospital room, gun in hand. Frost slid out behind her.

"The doctor too!" the man shouted.

Jane closed her eyes in defeat, listening as a few timid steps signaled Maura's presence behind her. On instinct, Jane stepped in front of the doctor, keeping one hand out to shield her.

"We're here," Jane said. "What do you want?"

"Weapons on the floor," he demanded.

"Jane…" Frost growled.

"Do it," she snipped.

The men laughed as the detectives placed their guns on the linoleum. Jane's jaw tightened in anger. For the first time she realized the guard by the door was dead – bled out on the floor. The rage flamed up her cheeks while she stared, plunged into the familiar feelings, suddenly frozen in a crouched position. Without realizing she was doing so, Jane succumbed to the memories and flashes.

It was no longer the dead hospital officer but instead the lifeless face of Rafael Martinez. Jane had seen plenty of bodies, injuries, and even killings before that – three years of vice was plenty opportunity – but Rafael's death in a gang war that day was the hardest thing she ever witnessed. It wasn't just blood on her hands or on the floor or found in her hair that night – it was his blood. And ever since that blood, Jane couldn't bear to see anymore. That's why she needed the cyber unit. She hadn't seen blood since.

"Jane," Frost hissed at her.

The novice detective was panicking as he stood. The gunmen were preparing to strike. Jane was still hovering over the gun, gaze trapped by a trance.

"What's she doing?" the gunman was asking.

"Stand up!" the other shouted.

"Get away from the gun!"

"Jane!" Frost yelled.

"I'm going to shoot!"

"Stand up!"

Maura watched the scene in terror. She'd been so petrified since the first gunshot that she could hardly speak. While she was calm and collected with someone's life in her hands, with a knife above a heart or a brain, she couldn't think during the rapid, random violence. She stood behind Jane Rizzoli with wobbly knees, wringing her hands together so intensely that they were turning red and hot from her touch.

As the gunman shouted louder and stepped closer to the flashback stricken Jane, Maura was suddenly sobered.

The threat to the woman beneath her – the woman who completely baffled the doctor, who made her heart thunder when she came near, who seemed to hate her, who Maura treated as nothing more than any other cocaine induced patient, who she'd only known for six hours which was definitely not enough time to develop the necessary amount of oxytocin and vasopressin hormones for a limerent relationship – was enough to make her feel strength for an impossible fight.

"Jane," Maura started gently. She blinked, shaking herself out of the fear and forcing a sliver of strength. "Jane, you have to get up."

Maura's voice was enough. The hand was back on the detective's shoulder. A life raft out. Warmth, safety suddenly hit Jane among the awful blood. A reprieve she hadn't felt since Rafael's death – or perhaps had never felt at all.

"Get up," Maura pleaded. "Come back, Jane. Come back, honey."

It slipped so naturally that Maura never had the chance to amend the words. She'd never used such a name before. Not for her dolls or first boyfriend or Ian or the boy in medical school who said he loved her and would marry her.

Her thoughts ceased as soon as Jane stood. She glanced back at Maura, dark eyes lost and hopeless. A look that hurt Maura's heart.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the gunman growled at her.

"We did what you asked," Jane sighed turning back to him. "Let her go."

The nurse nodded vehemently, red and scared with the gun still pressed to her forehead. While he considered the demand, Jane glanced around the room. This section of the ICU was only eight rooms large. Three nurses, two orderlies, and another doctor were filtered in along with five patients currently safe in their rooms. A dead guard. Two detectives. And Maura Isles. Jane suddenly felt the pressure of thirteen lives in her hands. The seventh floor was likely closed off. She could hear the sound of a helicopter outside. Help was on the way. But it would be difficult to get it into the room.

"Let her go," Frost demanded. "You don't want more blood on your hands."

"I don't care about blood," the gunman with a rifle hissed. He held his weapon with both hands, slowly strolling among the cowering hospital workers who sat on the ground and ducked with fear. "What are you going to give us?"

"You could get out of here. Reduced sentence, reduced charges," Jane suggested. "You're obviously doing someone's dirty work."

The rifled man twitched. "You think you're pretty smart huh?" he growled.

"You're both from Southie," Jane continued. She pressed forward to stall. Pressed forward to give the hospital workers more time and the BPD a chance to save them. Her voice was strong while it scraped out against her through. "I can tell from the accent. And that's where all the bodies were dumped…"

"Fuck you," the man with the nurse barked.

"So who are you working for?" Jane asked. "You working for Paddy? He make you come here to clean up after him?"

The ICU was silent.

Jane chuckled. She could feel Frost looking at her nervously. She could feel Maura behind her. "I'm right, huh?" the detective taunted. "Not a point now boys. We'll track you down. We know who you work for…"

"You don't know shit!" the rifled one shouted.

He stepped toward Jane but before he could take even a full stride, the hospital phone rang abruptly. The ring was startling, causing nearly everyone, including the gunmen to jump. Jane felt Maura move closer to her, the doctor's light breath on her neck. The warmth was just centimeters from Jane, felt through her green scrubs.

The gunmen exchanged glances as if deciding who should answer. They didn't account for this. Didn't plan for hostages. They had bullets and that was all.

"Everyone sit down!" the rifled one shouted. He moved over brashly and kicked away Jane and Frost's guns before pushing the younger detective down to the floor. Jane would have pounced if it was anyone else, sending daggers through the man's heart as Frost sat back up on the floor. She slowly lowered herself to the floor, Maua taking a place beside her.

Across the room the other gun man threw the nurse to the floor, temporarily releasing her from harm before he grabbed the phone. "What do you want?" he asked.

"That's going to be the negotiator," Jane whispered to Frost.

His brown eyes were less scared this time as they found hers but still pleading. "What do we do?" he asked.

"We stay calm. Stall as long as we can," Jane replied. "We try to get everyone out alive."

"What about the patients?" Maura whispered.

She leaned in close to speak to the detectives, gaze glossed with terror.

"They don't want them," Frost said.

Jane nodded in agreement. The hostage takers spoke on the phone. They were demanding a helicopter on the roof in ten minutes. So far they were neither the brightest or creative.

Jane licked her lips at the free moment. She was sweating, shaking for a chance at calm. Her hand throbbed, her cheek was swelling by the second, and the ordeal wasn't helped by her come down from the night's buzz. She watched the gunmen and the guns. Jane swallowed hard. There was a chance she would die up there. Die with all the hospital workers. Even when the PD came, they could be caught in the crossfire by a stray bullet. And the blood would be hers this time. She could be happy with that. But the prospect, the blood made her crazy.

"Do you have anything?" Jane whispered to Maura.

The doctor's brow fell in confusion. Her beautiful gold eyes widened. "What?" she whispered back.

Jane Rizzoli would have been too proud in the past. Jane would have never thought of asking for this. Not in a million years. But she was far from herself. She was not the Jane Rizzoli of eight months ago. And in this moment it rang true – she was an addict.

"A pill. A pill, anything," Jane hissed. "For…for the pain."

Frost, who had his inklings of Jane's dependence, did his best to keep his face straight. He looked away while Maura went from confusion to outrage.

"Are you really asking me for drugs right now?" Maura growled. Her cheeks went hot with rage.

"I have a broken hand and a broken face," Jane snapped.

"You would think the aid of your adrenal glands would be enough," the doctor whispered.

"Are you kidding me?" Jane asked. "You are so judgmental. Do you want to get out of this alive?"

"Ladies, stop," Frost hissed.

The gunmen were still occupied with the phone call. The negotiations weren't going well. The man with the rifle kept eyes on the small space, eyeing the detectives closely.

"I need it," Jane growled back at Maura. She stared with the same judgment as before.

"You're not going to help us while you're high on pain pills," she told the doctor. "It impairs judgment and coordination and…"

"I could give a fuck. It's not to get high. I am in excruciating pain," Jane snapped. Maura narrowed her brow, waiting her out with poise even in the circumstance. The doctor was perfect in her posture on the floor, face impeccably calm, intelligent as she looked at the detective. Jane bit on her lip in rage, glanced around the room, and then leaned in, barely an inch from the doctor's nose.

"Fine," Jane whispered. She was boiling with anger, trembling even from the toxic combination of rage and fear. "Fine, you want me to say it? I need to get high right now. I need a fucking handful of pills because I'm coming down and I can't do this. I can't think straight, I can't stop seeing my dead partner's face, and I can't make a fist. And you know what, I'm not dying sober!"

Jane's hissing caught the attention of the other hostages. The man with the rifle pointed at her in warning. With desperation, Jane kept her stare on Maura's. The doctor appeared awestruck by the honesty and let out a slow breath.

"I don't have anything," Maura told her.

The detective's face dropped in fury. She opened and closed her mouth before speaking. "Then why the hell did you just put me through that?"

"Shut up," Frost said between tight lips.

Jane cursed under her breath while slowly reaching to her jacket pocket. The gunmen were screaming into the phone now, so the detective took the moment to remove the baggie of cocaine out of her pocket. She eagerly opened the bag, used a folded piece of paper inside to scoop a small amount of white powder up, brought it to her nose and snorted. The process took a full five seconds, leaving her undetected by their hostage takers.

"Are you kidding me?" Maura asked.

"Don't," Jane growled.

"You need help," the doctor whispered.

"I'll worry about that if we get out of this alive," Jane hissed.

"Why did you ask me for pills if you had cocaine still?" Maura asked.

"Hey!" the man with the rifle screamed. He left his partner at the nurse's station on the phone. "Shut up! I swear to God I'll kill both of you!"

He stomped toward them, coming fast enough to make the trio shudder.

"We'll have a chopper here in ten minutes," his partner announced to him, slamming the phone down.

"You must be pretty fucking stupid if you think that chopper is coming," Jane taunted.

"I've had enough of you!" the man barked.

He angrily reached down, grabbing Jane by her head of tangled black hair, and dragger her across the floor, away from Frost and Maura. She groaned and flailed at his action.

And then it hit her.

The high.

The plan.

With all the strength left in her – the strain of her abs, the flex of her biceps, and flexibility of her form – Jane grabbed at the gunman's leg. She gripped it hard, doing her best to hold on. He continued without flinching, pulling her along roughly, nearly breaking the hair from her head.

She sensed him slowing.

He was about to stop.

And with a grunt and the pull of her biceps, Jane moved herself across the floor, using her hands on his leg for leverage to pull her legs up and tangle with his.

The heavy man tripped clumsily over Jane, losing his balance against his own weight. He tumbled hard onto the floor, knocking with Jane as he did so, sending them rolling across the floor. Commotion erupted in the room. The other gunmen panicked, not sure whether to come over or keep the rest of the ICU under control.

But it was too late.

Like a cat Jane rolled, instantly straddling her assailant. She did her best to yank the gun out of his hand, running on new strength, a new high, more adrenaline. He was still stronger. The gunman grunted, pushing the barrel up to Jane's chest. Sweat beaded her brow and his. His finger was on the trigger.

Jane pushed the barrel out of the way not a second too soon.

The gun fired just past her shoulder, sending a bullet into the ceiling and plaster to the ground. The hospital workers screamed and the other gunman fired at the pair but Jane was unfazed. She was back. She was fighting. Hours ago it seemed impossible. Now she was determined to fight for her life.

Without a thought, without hesitation, Jane slammed her right fist into the man's Adam's apple. Another bone broke but the grip on the rifle loosened. Jane instantly seized it into her grasp as he choked, gasping for air against the blow.

The rifle flipped around in a second, barrel to the gunman's chest, a finger on the trigger.

Jane pulled with darkness in her eyes, not a single thought of standing down in her head.

The blood splattered onto her cheeks. He was dead instantly. The sound of the backfire nearly made her deaf.

But it wasn't over.

With speed she pounced back up to her feet, aiming the gun at the other assailant. He trembled at the sight of her.

"Frost!" Jane barked at him.

He was staring in awe. The young detective had never seen anything like it. Was certain it was something out of an action movie. Something that couldn't be done. Jane Rizzoli really was super human.

She barked at him again, rifle still on the other hostage taker, blood of another dripping from her face. Frost tripped up to his feet, scrambling so fast he nearly fell to reach the dead security guard. He pulled the handgun from the man's belt while Jane handled the other gunman.

"Put your weapon down!" she shouted at him.

"Fuck you!" he yelled.

Frost stood next to her, his gun aimed as well. "No way out now. We'll call up the backup."

"That's right. It's too late for me," the gunman trembled. He kept a tight hold on the gun.

"Why did you come here? Just to finish off that girl?" Jane asked.

He swallowed hard. The gun wavered in his hand.

"You can still get out of this," Frost said. "Tell us who sent you here."

"No," the gunman whispered.

"Help yourself. Why the hell did three gunman come here to kill one girl?" Jane asked.

"Tell us!" Frost screamed. He was more confident now. Shoulders back, gun steady. "Tell us now!"

"We were here for a doctor," the gunman whispered.

"What?" Jane asked. "Which one?"

"Paddy's daughter," he revealed.

"Who's Paddy's daughter?" Jane asked. "Paddy doesn't have a daughter."

"They'll kill me," the gunman muttered. He slowly slackened. The gun suddenly moved from Jane to underneath his chin.

"No!" Jane shouted.

"Don't! Put it down!" Frost yelled.

The gun fired. Their man was gone. The doors of the ICU burst open and the police officers flooded the halls.

Jane backed up, hands covered in blood, the rifle in her hand. She leaned back against the wall, sliding down to the floor in fatigue.

And across from her, still sitting in fear, she could see her.

Dr. Maura Isles was overcome with tears.

* * *

><p><em>Review are appreciated! Thank you for your support. I'll try to update soon.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

After the last body hit the floor, the next moments in the ICU that morning were a blur. The BPD charged in, screaming and pointing guns, dressed in unnecessary black padding and SWAT helmets. Their appearance seemed to startle the hostages as much as the gunman had. Frost told them about the man chained to the heater. Jane stayed stationary, still breathing heavily, heart still going erratic, too dazed to form a word.

Like an overpowering wave, the hostages, the thirteen who somehow made it out alive, were whisked away. Taken for statements and for a medical examination. Before Jane could think of going to Maura, the one person who still mattered, the doctor was gone.

They crowded around Jane next. She tried to look around them, tried to search for Maura. A new doctor examined her frantically, panicked by the crimson on her shirt and face. He searched for the origin of a wound, asking Jane questions as he checked her arms and legs and went to lift her shirt.

"It's not my blood," Jane said. She didn't move, brown eyes still searching in the distance. The words sounded dirty. She shivered and said it again. "It's not my blood."

She was taken downstairs for more examination. The patients were moved out with carts of their important documents. The entire ICU was being taped off behind her, about to be swept clean for evidence. The horror and blood and gun shells put neatly into plastic bags and filed away.

Jane was silent and distant for the rest. She offered nods or shakes of her head when she was asked questions by the doctors and nurses. They X-rayed her hand and face. A fractured cheekbone and four broken bones in her right hand. Her trigger finger would be out of commission for 4-6 weeks. Perhaps that was a good thing. They took her bloodied t-shirt and gave her a powder blue scrub top in replacement. She wiped the flesh and blood from her face with a moist towel. They gave her ice for the face and a painkiller, which Jane didn't say a word to, but was grateful for nonetheless. She sat up as a young doctor and nurse slowly set her arm and prepared to roll on a cast.

"That was the dumbest, most reckless, unnecessary, idiotic, dangerous, and did I say fucking stupid, thing I've ever seen," Sean Cavanaugh scolded, standing behind the nurse as they bandaged his detective. He kept his hands on his hips, staring down in a suit with authority, going on like an angry parent. "You know better than that Rizzoli! You could have killed yourself and everyone in that room. What the hell were you thinking? Were you high?"

_Yes. _

"No sir," Jane lied.

"This will be going up the chain of command and you will be facing an investigation," Cavanaugh spat. He shook his head, still completely baffled. "I just…I…I don't know what to do with you."

"Sorry sir," Jane muttered.

The young doctor, likely an intern or a first year resident, tried to pretend she wasn't paying attention. She dipped the plaster rolls in a pot of warm water on the tray beside them.

"You're a piece of work, Rizzoli. A piece of work," Cavanaugh grumbled. The chief softened slightly, begrudgingly stepping forward and awkwardly patting her on the back. "But I'm glad you're okay. And…and you should never ever fucking do that again, but it was a good job. You saved a lot of lives today."

Jane swallowed hard.

"Thanks you sir," she nodded.

"You must have someone up there," Cavanaugh muttered. "Someone in heaven looking out for you."

_Rafael. _

She gave a short nod, waiting until he decided to go away and instruct the rest of the officers in the building. Her brother Frankie was there, dressed in his blues, scrambling and worried. He'd already been over, peppering her with questions and making sure she was okay. Jane only requested that he hold off on telling their mother as long as possible.

Jane was left in such a trance that she hadn't noticed Dr. Maura Isles standing there. She'd been lingering behind Cavanaugh, waiting for the chief to leave so she could have a word with the detective. Jane hardly noticed until she approached the doctor about to set her cast.

"I got this, Susan," Maura told the young woman.

She looked up at Maura in confusion. "But Dr. Isles…"

"Go," was all Maura said. The nurse waited anxiously. "You too."

Jane's eyes widened as the nurse whisked off with the other doctor. "You've got a lot of pull around here, huh?" she asked. Her voice was rough. She hadn't formed a full sentence for nearly an hour.

"I'm the chief surgical resident," Maura clipped. She studied Jane's updated chart with the information on her broken bones. She pursed her lips. "I see they gave you something for the pain."

The detective stayed quiet. Usually she would have snapped back, would've asked Maura to just leave her. But now she was tired. Or perhaps now she was softened. She fluttered as the surgeon's hands felt her fingers, straightening them out for the application of plaster. Even those medical, cold touches were enough to make Jane swell.

"Are you okay?" Jane asked her.

Maura looked up. There was pain in her hazel eyes. Not just the pain of the horror they both just witnessed but something else. Jane just kept staring, lost in the doctor's gaze. Desperate to know more. Desperate to make it better. Finally Maura gave a brief sigh.

"You're out of control," Maura told her. "I'm putting in your chart that you are a substance abuser. And I'm putting in a strong recommendation for a rehabilitation program…"

"Did you just come here to make me feel like shit?" Jane asked.

"You put everyone in danger up there. I'm not impressed," Maura growled.

The doctor roughly straightened out one of Jane's finger and the detective cried out. "Owww!" she yelled. "Are you punishing me?"

Maura quietly pulled out the first roll of plaster without a word, expertly rolling it at the base of the case, in the middle of Jane's forearm. The detective was bitter but mesmerized as Maura worked. She winced slightly as the plaster brushed against the tender parts.

As much as she despised the doctor, painting her as a drug addict and scolding her left and right, Jane hated disappointing her. She hated the woman's disapproval. It stung like nothing else. Worse than the nuns in Catholic school, worse than her mother. For whatever reason, Jane hung on Maura Isles' approval. She blinked her tired brown eyes a few times before clearing her throat.

"I'm sorry," Jane mumbled.

Maura paused, surprised by the admission. She did her best to maintain a straight face. "What?"

Jane groaned. "I said I'm sorry. That was beyond stupid of me up there. I apologize," she said.

"I don't believe you," Maura replied.

"What!" Jane shouted. She leaned in close to the doctor. "What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?"

Maura shrugged, shook her head, and went back to putting Jane's hand in a cast.

"You think you know everything," Jane grumbled. She lowered her voice. "I'm not an addict. I can stop if I want to."

"Really?"

"Yes. In fact, I'll stop today. I don't need it. Upstairs was an extreme circumstance. That's all," Jane insisted. "I mean, I have a broken hand for-OW!"

"Oh I'm sorry," Maura said. The petite doctor gave an innocent shrug.

"You did that on purpose," Jane hissed.

"I would never," Maura replied. "A doctor purposely hurting a patient is as ludicrous as a detective snorting coke during a hostage situation."

Jane pulled in her anger and grinded her teeth together. "You done?"

"You need another layer of plaster…"

"No, are you done harassing me?" Jane asked.

Maura just shrugged. Jane retreated to silence in her defeat, falling back into the calming practice of watching the doctor work. Those hands were perfect. Jane wanted them all over her. Comforting, safe, warm, and sexy…Jane stopped as the thought jumped there. She blushed in embarrassment. She wasn't just curious, maybe even fond of the doctor. She was attracted to her.

"What color do you want?"

Jane was startled out of her daydreaming by Maura's calm, almost robotic voice. "What?"

"The color for your cast," Maura answered.

"What am I five?" Jane nearly snorted. The doctor wasn't amused and Jane settled back down. "Black."

Maura Isles rifled around in the drawer next to her, flipping through the colors, a small smirk lifting her mouth. "I'm afraid we don't have black," she said. She grabbed out a roll of florescent pink, causing Jane to scowl. "I guess this will have to do."

"No," Jane growled.

"What? It's just a color. I mean, what are you five?" Maura teased. "It will match the blush in your cheeks."

"The what?" Jane stammered. She reached up with her free hand to touch her face, growing more embarrassed at the attention. Perhaps Maura could see it. Could see and feel how Jane lit up like a love struck puppy around her.

"I'm just teasing detective," Maura replied. Now it was her turn to be embarrassed, shoulders hunching over and voice lowering. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've never been very good at jokes. Social cues and interaction have always been a surprising challenge."

Jane felt her heart twitch with adoration. The doctor's adorable shyness, a trait Jane hadn't picked up on before, suddenly filled the detective with tenderness. "I hadn't noticed," Jane teased back. "I assumed it was just poor bedside manner."

"Most people do," Maura told her.

The detective frowned with sympathy. She watched as the cast was finished off with the color of unicorns and cotton candy.

"If it was any other doctor I think I'd deck them for giving me a pink cast," Jane said.

"Big tough detective's afraid of a little pink?" Maura asked as she cleaned up the supplies. "I suppose I'm glad I'm the exception."

The pair was quiet in the triage center where chaos was still ensuing. Officers and doctors and nurses flitted all over the place despite there being few injuries during the hostage crisis.

"This will have to set and dry for an hour," Maura told her.

"Great," Jane muttered. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," she muttered.

Before Maura could get up to leave, Jane cleared her throat. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"You already asked me that," the doctor replied.

Jane frowned. "I saw you after everything," she said. "And you were crying and I…I was worried about you. I tried to find you but everything happened so fast and…"

"I'm fine, detective," Maura told her.

"I know it can be scary. Hell, I was terrified. I'm always terrified," Jane admitted without meaning to. "But you'll be okay. Everything will be fine."

"Coming from the cop abusing substances because her job got to be too much," Maura said.

Jane ignored the jab. "You're better than me though. You'll be fine."

"No I won't," Maura whispered.

"What makes you so sure?" Jane asked.

Maura looked around, her face falling with the same angst as it did upstairs. "Because I'm Paddy Doyle's daughter."

"What?" Jane nearly shouted. She popped up to her feet. "We have to tell Cavanaugh and…"

"I already did," Maura assured. Jane realized a detail of cops was keeping a close eyes on the doctor, probably had been for the last thirty minutes. "They're taking me to the station after this."

"After what?" Jane asked.

"After I saw you," Maura told her. She swallowed hard. "I should go."

"Wait…"

Maura was gone in a flash, a group of officers instantly following her out, including the chief who gave Jane one last suspicious look before leaving the hospital. Jane dropped to the bed in defeat, her mind occupied trying to fit itself around the shocking idea. Not just the idea that Maura was a Doyle. But the fact that the doctor had waited, risked her safety, to see Jane. To wrap her cast. To criticize her nonetheless but to be with her.

Jane didn't know what was ahead. All she knew was that she had to see Maura Isles again. She would do anything to keep the doctor closer. Anything for another word, another glance. The infatuation was more pressing than her addiction. She needed Maura more badly than the drugs. At least that's what she was convinced of.

The cast dry after forty minutes. Maura's notes in the file made her discharge a nightmare. The pamphlets about AA and rehab and drug abuse and alcohol addiction were handed to her in a thick pile. Jane simply listened as the doctor informed her about options. They were hesitant to give her any painkillers. So condescendingly so that Jane brashly insisted that she didn't need them anyway. She knew she would regret it later but at least Maura wouldn't accuse her of trying to get high.

Besides, Jane Rizzoli wasn't an addict. Jane didn't need it.

She left the hospital for the precinct. They didn't even have to tell her. After her time on vice she knew the drill. Frankie drove her, pelting her with questions about the hostage crisis, the guns, the moves she used, what was going through her head…sometimes she could kill her little brother.

Internal Affairs was waiting at her desk. Jane changed into the extra t-shirt she kept in the office before following them to an interrogation room. The interview lasted over an hour. They asked Jane all the questions she expected. How it started, why she made the moves she made, was she over aggressive, did she give them a chance to surrender, were lives in danger, was she threatened, how many shots did she fire, what did Frost do, what did the other hostages do, what did she remember…Jane was exhausted by the end.

And like so many other things that happened that day, it was her first interview with internal affairs since Rafael Martinez. Of course in that interview Jane was distraught. Crying as she went over the facts and memories. Sniffling through the play-by-play. She made them promise not to tell anyone. As far as she knew they hadn't.

She was free to leave by one that afternoon.

Jane should have gone home. She'd been up all night, sustained a minor injury, and wouldn't be much help with the pending investigation. Frost was already in the interrogation room with the gunman they managed to keep alive. Usually Jane would have pushed her way in, demanded to be a part of the questioning, but in this case her concerns were singular.

"Is the doctor still here?" Jane asked Frankie.

"What doctor?" Frankie bumbled.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Maura Isles. Paddy Doyle's daughter," she clarified.

"Oh yeah," Frankie smiled. "Yeah, she's kind of a babe, huh?"

"Frankie," Jane hissed.

"She left already," Frankie said.

"Oh," Jane mumbled in disappointment. She tried to keep her emotions covert, not wanting the teasing of her brother.

"You need something from her?" Frankie asked.

"No, no," Jane replied quickly.

Frankie studied her for a curious few moments before decided it was nothing. "You should go home and shower. You still have guts in your hair," he told her.

"Thanks Frankie," Jane grumbled.

He started down the hall but stopped before turning out of sight. "The doctor is under police protection. They'll be rotating patrols outside her house until this thing blows over," he shared. "I'll be on duty tonight."

Jane nodded, pretending the information meant nothing. She gave him a smile. "See you later."

"Rizzoli!" Cavanaugh bellowed.

She cringed as he heard her name, watching as Frankie quickly made his way out of sight. Jane slowly turned around. "Yes sir?"

"In my office," Cavanaugh demanded.

Jane sat across from his desk as he slammed a pile of paper down in front of her. "What's that?" she asked.

"That's your discharge papers from the hospital this morning," Cavanaugh barked. His eyes were wild with anger and Jane already sensed what was coming. Still she stayed quiet. She wouldn't incriminate herself further. "You had an arrhythmia last night because of suspected cocaine abuse. Dr. Isles put in your file that she has concerns about substance problem…"

"Sir, I…"

"No, you be quiet!" Cavanaugh shouted. "You were high during the hostage situation weren't you?"

Jane bowed her head.

"Weren't you?"

"Yes sir," Jane sighed.

"You didn't think I would find out? I'm head of the homicide investigations department," Cavanaugh nearly laughed in rage. "I should kick you off this force right now."

Jane looked up, ignoring the fact that tears of shame were starting to sting her eyes. She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "But you're not going to?"

"You will be sober from today forward. I want you in an AA program. I will be conducting drug tests starting as soon as the last dose is out of your system," Cavanaugh hissed. "I don't want you taking so much as an aspirin or so help me God…"

"I understand sir," Jane nodded.

"For now, internal affairs doesn't need to know about this," he grumbled. He flopped down in the chair behind his desk. "I want you to continue consulting on this case."

"Thank you sir."

"You owe Detective Frost a big thank you. He vouched for you. He's dumb enough to trust you," Cavanaugh growled. "But the second you're a toe out of line, I swear to God, I'll kick you out so fast your head will spin."

"Yes sir," Jane nodded. She didn't realize a few tears had fallen. She hastily wiped them with the back of her hand.

"Now go!" he nearly shouted.

Jane scrambled out of her chair and into the hall. When the door closed behind her she leaned back, burying her head in her hands.

She'd gotten out of it clean. Somehow.

But the case was just beginning. Her fight was just beginning. Jane squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.

"God help me," she mumbled. "And Rafael, if you're up there, help me out with this one partner. Just one more time."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for the reviews! Love your opinions and always glad to take an interesting angle on our favorite characters. I hope you keep the feedback coming, it certainly keeps me going. <em>


	5. Chapter 5

It was five o'clock in the evening when they sent Jane Rizzoli home. She and Frost were dead on their feet, no longer making progress on the case which had photos of dead bodies, bags of evidence, documents, and maps spread out on the table and taped to the walls. They worked together in a strange sort of harmony. Jane's experience in the cybercrime unit worked to their advantage, allowing her to dominate the databases and hacking for their aid.

The lead was simple. The appearance of Dr. Maura Isles made the lines clear. All the victims; the taxi driver, the teacher, the teenagers, and the nurse at the hospital all tied back to the mob boss' daughter. Someone was tracking her down and taking blood to answer his questions.

The nurse who delivered her.

The taxi driver who drove the car that day; the car for Paddy Doyle to go to the hospital, meet his daughter and take her away from her mother.

The young teacher who studied art in Constance Isles' class at the University. So close she even babysat the professor's daughter - who Constance once confided the girls' true parentage too.

And the teenagers. They'd only wanted the boy. He'd had his appendix removed a month before – by none other than Dr. Maura Isles. Confirmation that she was working at St. Vincent's hospital.

Lori was just caught in the crossfire. Her parents were ready to pull the plug. An unnecessary tragedy.

All the bodies were dumped in Southie. Because, Jane reasoned, it was Paddy's turf. A message. Not to the police but the mobster himself.

But who?

That's as far as Frost and Jane got before they fell asleep at the table, no longer aided by coffee. She thanked him before they left. Apologized and assured gratitude. He gave her a ride to her Jeep, still parked at the original crime scene. She had two tickets on her window and Jane rolled her eyes. She would get them taken care of by Frankie tomorrow.

She drove home in a daze, nearly surprised she made it without any accidents. Her body was fatigued beyond rest. She was weary on her feet, heavy and ungraceful as she climbed the stairs. She struggled with the keys in her pocket, taking a few tries to successfully enter her apartment.

Jane instantly threw her jacket – truly Frost's jacket – off and slipped out of her shoes. She tripped over one of her sweatshirts, and braced herself on the couch cluttered with more dirty laundry. She glared at the mess. The liter of liquor and dishes on the coffee table. Jane burled her way into the equally disgusting kitchen, eagerly pulling open the refrigerator door, grabbing a beer, popping the top and…

She froze just before the can hit her lips. The cool aluminum and smell teased her.

"Fuck," Jane groaned.

She slammed the full beer to the counter in anger.

Sobriety was going to be a bitch.

After the day she had, after the new blood, the hostages, the near heart attack and case, Jane Rizzoli would have killed for one more sip of beer.

"I don't need it," she muttered.

Jane hastily empty the beer into the sink. She crushed the aluminum in her uncasted hand like a victory. She watched as the golden brew swirled down the sink.

She was suddenly reminded of Cavanaugh's words. Of Maura's disappointed face. Of the pamphlets she threw in the trash when she left the hospital.

Jane Rizzoli wasn't an addict.

In haste she went back to the fridge, quickly pulling out all the beers she could manage under her arm and dumped them onto the counter. She emptied the fridge of all the beer. The freezer of all the vodka. The stash of bourbon in the cupboard, the whiskey on the coffee table, the two bottles of wine, and the lone bottle of scotch she kept for special occasions.

She poured them all down the drain, ignoring the sweet smell. Ignoring the salivating in her mouth. The lust for one last drink.

She didn't need it.

Jane wasn't ready for sleep. Her head hurt too intensely, she was sweating, still riled from the day – still itching for something to soothe her.

She started by taking out the trash – three bags worth plus the cans for the homeless man in the alley. She took out plastic wrap, did a poor job of sealing up her cast and scrubbed all the dishes in the sink. She took the plates and coffee mugs from the living room and her bedroom, even found one in the bathroom, and scrubbed those clean. Jane rounded up the laundry, put away the equipment in the closet, organized the coffee table and…

Fuck she cleaned the whole damn house and she was still going crazy.

She cleaned the toilet and the shower and the sink. Mopped the kitchen floor. Vacuumed. Changed the sheets. Rotated the laundry. God help her, she was considering dusting.

She took Frankie's advice next. Jane blasted the heat in the shower, yanked off her clothes and allowed the steam to momentarily take her away. Much like the alcohol in the sink, the other poisons of the day drained away from Jane in the shower. Sweat, dirt, and blood circled down the tub. She had to wash her hair twice to get all the flesh and blood out. She scrubbed vigorously, washing away the day, the hostages, the blood, the guns, the drugs, and violence. Washing away everything that made her feel like she was going to burst from the inside out. She was crazy.

Jane finished and dried up, suddenly a little woozy from the humidity in the bathroom. She put on a pair of clean shorts and a t-shirt and checked her watch in disappointment. It wasn't yet 8 o'clock.

She could watch the game.

Yes, she would watch the game. What game? She wasn't sure. Any game. Any game in the world.

It was golf.

"Great," Jane hissed.

She kicked her legs up on the spotless coffee table and switched the channel to highlights on ESPN.

_This is fine. _Jane told herself. _I'm fine. I don't need anything. Just here in my apartment. But a drink would be nice. Just one drink. You could have one, it wouldn't hurt anything._

"No," Jane snapped. She got up to her feet and paced.

_Think of the case. That will keep you busy. Who would kill Maura Isles? Couldn't be Paddy himself. He seemed to go to extreme trouble to make sure they led separate lives. An enemy of Paddy's? An enemy of Maura's? Perhaps a drug addict she wouldn't give a fix. Yeah, even Jane thought she might snap at kill the holy doctor…_

"Dinner," Jane decided.

There was nothing in the refrigerator. She found some spaghetti in the cupboard. A little bit of meat sauce too. It was expired by a few weeks but it couldn't hurt. Jane sniffed for confirmation. It would work.

She hovered over the pot of water on the stove, watching desperately as it boiled. Focusing on the ripples, then the slow bubbles, then the full blown boil. God she needed something. Her face hurt. Her hand hurt. More than that, her entire body was jittery and unhappy. She closed her eyes and breathed.

Jane never got around to eating.

As she poured the Ragoo into the sauce pan, watching as it heated and boiled, the red topping suddenly filled her with nausea. A nausea that had been building. The crimson sauce like blood. The smell suddenly hit her as rancid and stomach curdling.

She leaned over the sink not a second too soon, heaving the few contents of her stomach into the drain. It was mostly the Chinese food her and Frost had for lunch. She coughed and choked, gripping onto the counter as a dizzy spell hit her. It made her puke again.

Jane flipped off the burners and collapsed to the kitchen floor, knees pulled to her chest in defeat. Sweat beaded her brow, her body ached, her head pounded. The sour taste in her mouth and stomach would have made her sick again if it wasn't for the fact that her stomach was already empty.

_Just one beer. Just one hit. One line._

She got up with determination, pulling herself up with her uninjured hand. She went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and grabbed Frost's police jacket from the bathroom floor. Her hand trembled as she reached into the pocket.

The white baggie called to her.

The powder that seemed to solve all problems.

She needed the pick me up.

She needed the high.

"Fuck Rizzoli," Jane hissed. "Pull it together."

In haste she dropped the baggie from her hand like it was on fire. It fell into the toilet, sinking to the bottom of the bowl. Jane flushed it with force, giving a shaky sigh as it disappeared.

_Told you. I don't need it. _

Just as quickly as the cocaine flushed away, Jane was back over the toilet, dry heaving this time against an empty, upset stomach. When she finished she wiped her brow and mouth, drank a glass of water and waited. She glared at herself in the mirror.

_What happened to you? This isn't Jane Rizzoli. _

Water dripped off her chin into the sink. She shook her head. "I've got to get out of here," she whispered.

Jane cleaned her face and pulled her dark hair into a clean bun behind her head. She went to the bedroom with determination, ignoring the cramps and dizziness. Her hands shook as she rifled through her closet. She pulled out a dark suit and a crisp powder blue button up. The struggle to get the clothes on around her cast was difficult. She cursed as she tried to clasp the buttons, pull on socks and clip on her bra.

She was out of breath by the time she finished. Jane grabbed a pair of boots, the ones with the heel, and zipped them up. Clipped her badge onto her leather belt, grabbed the gun from her case and holstered it.

Jane paused in front of the mirror.

She looked pale and sick but strong. Part of her was still there. Perhaps she could crawl back. She could be the detective again.

She hadn't worn the clothes since…

_You got to stop doing that. Forget it. That was eight months ago. Eight months you wasted. _

Jane grabbed her keys from the dish by the door and left the apartment behind. It was drizzling outside but the light mist of rain was refreshing. She pulled in long inhales of cool air, soothing her burning body. It was a temporary, sweet relief to the stifling confines of her apartment.

She yanked open the squeaky driver's side door and hopped in. Her destination was clear even if impulsive and ridiculous; she was going to Beacon Hill.

When she arrived she almost turned back. They would think it strange she showed up at ten o'clock when she'd already been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

_I'm on a case. Yeah, I'm on a case. I don't need an excuse. Dr. Isles is part of the investigation. And I wanted to make sure she was okay. _

"Jane," Frankie said in surprise. She gritted her teeth as he noticed her. Two marked cars were parked outside Maura Isle's Beacon Hill home. One officer was posted at the front door and rest took rounds about the house. It was six officers in all. Jane was impressed by the numbers on the doctor's detail. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd see how things are going," Jane answered.

Frankie Rizzoli's brow stitched in confusion. He leaned against his car in surprise. "Well, everything's fine," he told her. "You okay? You look sick or something…"

"I'm fine," Jane glared.

"Sorry, I'm just saying…" Frankie mumbled. "You should be getting rest Jane. You've had a hell of a few days."

"I came here to see Dr. Isles. I've been thinking about the case," Jane reasoned.

Frankie's face softened with sympathy. Since they were children, Frankie knew his sister well. He sensed the reasoning for being out of her apartment. "Can't sleep," Frankie said. It wasn't a question but a fact. He glanced up at the house. "I don't think the doctor can either. Lights have been on all night."

"Hopefully she won't mind a little company," she replied.

Jane started up the cobblestone walkway, admiring the house on her way. It was a large, beautiful home, like most in the affluent Beacon Hill area. Jane guessed at least two stories, among the balconies and modern architecture. The officer didn't ask for credentials as Jane approached the door. She thought of the crime scene the night before. This recognition was much better.

She lingered at the door for longer than necessary. She stared at the black barrier, considering the doorbell, then a knock, then the doorbell again. She looked over her shoulder. Or she could go back. Back home. No that was not an option….

"You going to go in?" the officer asked.

Jane gave him a nasty look and opted for the doorbell.

She spent the entire time waiting for the door to open with the thought of turning back and running. But when Maura Isles finally appeared, Jane couldn't move. The woman was more beautiful than she realized.

Her golden hair was in full curls, bouncy and generously spilling over her slender shoulders. Flawless, elegant make-up accented and made her features pop under the light. She wore a silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. Her feet were bare and Jane's eyes couldn't help but trail up her perfectly toned, porcelain legs. And her breasts. Jane tried not to let her eyes linger to long on the view, a view not available when the doctor was in scrubs, but now the breasts stared back at her and…

"Detective Rizzoli?" Maura was shocked.

Jane hoped that she hadn't been staring or silent for too long. She cleared her dry throat. "Hi," she greeted. Jane swallowed hard and on second thought of the woman's outfit suddenly blushed. She didn't even know if Dr. Isles was married or living with someone. She could have a date, roommates, a party inside…"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't catch you in the middle of something."

Maura quickly shook her head, a hand still on the doorframe. The draft from outside teased her hair like a runway model. "No, no. I just wasn't expecting to see you," she answered.

"Yeah," Jane said. She nervously glanced over her shoulder. She hadn't planned this part out. It seemed like such a good decision on her drive over. Seemed brilliant as she slipped into her best suit. But even Jane couldn't decipher the true reason or meaning behind her visit. "I just, I wanted to see if you were doing okay. I didn't mean to barge in on you. I was just going over the case and had a few questions."

The doctor shifted nervously. She scaled Jane Rizzoli up inconspicuously. At the hospital the detective had been a wreck. Messy and rather unprofessional. But this was a woman. The suit fit her strong, lean body. Each line of her shoulders, arms, the muscle in her legs. She stood tall and proud. Maura filled with an excited flutter at the sight of the imposing woman. This was Jane Rizzoli. This was the woman who saved her life and took down two gunman on her own.

"I uh…" Maura paused. "Would you like to come in?"

"I don't want to impose. We can do this tomorrow. I just," Jane hesitated. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," Maura admitted. She opened the door wider. "Come in, detective…"

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><p><em>Thanks for reading. Would love to hear from you in reviews! <em>


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